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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315730">Of Her Own Making</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface'>skimmingthesurface</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1900s, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drinking to Cope, F/F, Ghosts, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Inspired by Real Events, Minor Injuries, Non-Graphic Violence, Winchester Mystery House</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:08:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1919, and Aziraphale has been sent to the states in order to convince a very powerful woman in the firearms industry to continue manufacturing guns to ensure that they will be in the right hands to lend weight to any moral arguments should any wars arise in the near future. </p>
<p>It just so happens that this woman is Sarah Winchester, and that the house the angel will be staying at is a manor of many mysteries, including one that involves the demon Crowley, whom Aziraphale hasn't seen since their argument in 1862...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trickety-Boo! Exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Winchester Manor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/gifts">Euterpein</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for the Good Omens Events Discord Server's Trickety-Boo Halloween exchange! My gift is for the amazing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein">Euterpein</a> who ran the event and made everything perfectly splendid! I hope you enjoy the gift! In addition to your prompt, I was inspired by the story behind the Winchester Mystery House, so I've added my own ineffable twist to it. Starring the ineffable wives, my portrayal of Sarah Winchester based off research and how I needed her to be for the fic, and ghosts! This is my first time writing them as both female-presenting, so I hope I did them and your prompt justice!</p>
<p>I'll be posting chapters 2 and 3 later tonight as I finish them, but wanted to get this up for you first! Happy Halloween!</p>
<p>Also huge thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991">Syl</a> for being my beta and ever-encouraging cheerleader!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>1919</p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>San Jose, California</p>
</div><p>The horse and carriage ride from the city was miraculously smooth, Aziraphale hardly expecting it to be anything but as she approached what had once been a farmhouse and orchards in the middle of the Santa Clara Valley. In its place stood an opulent, seven story Queen Anne-Victorian inspired manor, adorned with scaffolding and surrounded by the buzz of constant construction. The yellow, scalloped exterior couldn’t help but draw Aziraphale’s eye and a soft huff at its excessiveness. She’d heard tales of Sarah Winchester’s labyrinthine manor on her way from San Francisco, but to see it in-person was something else entirely. </p>
<p>Her carriage slowed, horse nickering softly as it came to a stop before the front porch. Aziraphale adjusted the small hat atop her head and her travel cape before she exited the buggy. She smiled and tipped the driver as he fetched her luggage, granting him a small blessing for good business whilst automobiles were on the rise. She didn’t think she’d ever get in one herself, and would happily take a horse and carriage until they were no more.</p>
<p>Standing before the manor now, she could feel the stirrings of appreciation for all the artistic details that seemed to have been carved into each and every element of the building's facade. Though she did wonder at the door on the first floor - second floor, to the Americans - that seemed to lead to a straight drop to the ground below. No balcony, no guard rail. An odd design choice. Perhaps she meant to add a balcony at a later time.</p>
<p>“Nurse Fell?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale turned her discerning gaze to the maid on the porch, an angelic smile replacing her scrutiny. “Yes, hello,” she greeted. “I do apologize for the delay. My errands in the city took a bit longer than expected.” After all, it was her first time to San Francisco and she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t at least sample a few of the confections in Ghiradelli’s chocolate shop near the bay. “I do hope I haven’t kept Mrs. Winchester waiting too long.”</p>
<p>“Not at all, Nurse Fell. She’s just retired to her quarters for a rest, but is looking forward to meeting you once you’ve settled in. Come, I’ll show you to your room.” The young woman gestured for a butler to take up Aziraphale’s belongings ahead of them, neither missing the surprised grunt he made as he momentarily struggled with the heavier than expected luggage. </p>
<p>Aziraphale lightened the load for him with a blink. Perhaps she’d packed too many books.</p>
<p>The noise of construction followed them through the front doors into the narrow foyer. There was a parlour to the right and a long hallway stretched in front of them that led to “two of the six kitchens and one of three dining rooms,” the maid explained in her tour. Aziraphale had seen many extravagant homes in her time on Earth, the most lavish of palaces and homes that boldly boasted of all the grandeur of Heaven. However, she had to admire the touches to this house. Luxury fixtures adorned it from top to bottom, crystal chandeliers hanging overhead in the ballrooms and while her neat, kitten heels tapped on the polished parquet flooring. Two stained glass windows caught her eye as they passed through the ballroom, highlighting a quote Aziraphale recognized from Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida. </p>
<p>They came to a rather peculiar room, one that very gradually sloped upwards via a winding path created by half walls protruding up from the floor. “Mrs. Winchester finds it rather difficult to climb traditional staircases now,” the maid explained as they wound their way through the room. “I trust that you’re familiar with her arthritis diagnosis?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale confirmed. “I’ve been briefed on her health at present and read through previous treatment plans from prior physicians.”</p>
<p>“Of course, you’ll find various rooms have been designed to maintain optimum levels of comfort for her as she moves about the house. There are three other stairways that can lead to your quarters, but since you’ll be tending to Mrs. Winchester frequently, this may be the most direct route to take to her rooms.”</p>
<p>A direct route wasn’t exactly how Aziraphale would describe the twisting corridors that snaked through the manor. How clever humans had to be in order to adapt to this ever-evolving architectural structure. Eventually they came to her bedroom, a room the maid called “the Daisy Room.”</p>
<p>“This is one of Mrs. Winchester’s favorite rooms. It’s close to her bedroom as well, so in case of an emergency, you’re easily accessible,” the maid informed her.</p>
<p>Sunny yellow wallpaper adorned the room, made brighter by the two windows overlooking the grounds. One of the windows was another fine piece of stained glass containing the room’s namesake. A pretty little daisy framed by thirteen leaves and trailing vines. A reading chair was nestled by the stained glass, facing a four poster bed with velveteen covers. There were also pipes protruding from the walls, each one labeled with a different room. Various sounds throughout the house floated through them, intended for communication purposes, she realized. </p>
<p>The butler dropped off her luggage and Aziraphale thanked him with a smile while the maid asked, “Would you like to take tea in the parlour before dinner, Nurse Fell? I imagine you’re tired after a day of travel.”</p>
<p>“Tea would be lovely, thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale removed her hat and travel cape, hanging both on the coat rack provided.</p>
<p>“I’ll have that prepared for you straightaway while you unpack. Will you be able to find your way back to the parlour we passed on our way in?”</p>
<p>“I believe I can manage.” And she would, the house would not allow the angel to get lost.</p>
<p>The maid curtseyed and made to leave, but paused in the doorway and thought for a moment before adding, “The only full-time residents of the manor are Mrs. Winchester and the rest of the staff, though she does have a guest who is staying with us at present. She might end up joining you, if she feels so inclined. Would you mind?”</p>
<p>“Oh, not at all. It must be nice for Mrs. Winchester to have a guest.” Aziraphale smiled warmly, imagining that living in a house of this size on one’s own might become terribly lonely.</p>
<p>The maid didn’t seem to share the sentiment, though she said nothing more about it as she took her leave. Aziraphale wondered what sort of person the guest was as she unpacked her things, mostly books and a spare apron to go over her nurse’s uniform. She’d taken on the role during the war of the previous four years. The Great War, it had been called. There was only so much good one could do at the front lines, only so much she’d been permitted to do by Heaven. Even as it gave rise to a new source of destruction, who would one day be the horseman to overtake Pestilence with their chemicals and smog and pollution, she’d had orders not to interfere, that war was necessary for the right side to win.</p>
<p>As a nurse she couldn’t stop the war, but she could give comfort to those who needed it in their final hours. She could heal those who had a chance of survival and soothe the ones that wished for quiet. For eternal peace. </p>
<p>She’d been so very alone.</p>
<p>She’d been ready to give up the nurse’s mantle, to return to being a simple bookshop owner, when the orders came from Gabriel that another war was on the rise and that the Winchester Revolving Rifle Company needed to continue its mass production of guns. She didn’t understand how more guns could possibly be a good thing, but when pressed, Gabriel had simply smiled in that way of his that made her feel so small and silly - smaller and sillier when presenting as a female which made her writhe with discomfort inside the confines of her corporation - and he’d said that as long as the guns were in the right hands, they’d lend weight to their moral argument, and that couldn’t be wrong now, could it, Aziraphale?</p>
<p>It was the sort of topic she would’ve liked to bring up with Crowley, had the demon ever come around to check in on her after the war.</p>
<p>Instead Aziraphale was in California and she hadn’t seen the demon in over fifty years. Aziraphale sighed, then checked her hair and makeup in the mirror on her dressing table and refreshed both with an idle miracle before going in search of the parlour.</p>
<p>She found it with little trouble, as to be expected, but the strange layout of the manor was still rather distracting. Aziraphale took a seat on one of the chairs surrounding the table, settling on an emerald green, velveteen cushion, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirts as her gaze drifted about the room. Despite the lavish trimmings of the rest of the house, this parlour felt quite loved and lived in, the mint wallpaper and blush pink valances brightening the dark wood tones of the furnishings even as the late afternoon sun drenched the room in syrupy, orange-tinted hues.</p>
<p>A soft, high note drifted through the room. Aziraphale blinked, then turned in her seat. There was a piano in the corner just behind her. Her brow furrowed as she glanced about, but she was very much alone in the room. She could hear voices murmuring and footsteps of household staff puttering in the hall, the ting of china as preparations were made for dinner as well as for her tea, most likely.</p>
<p>Aziraphale settled back in her chair. Yes, that must have been it. The sound of china or crystal could certainly carry the same sort of musicality of an instrument if tapped the right way. Then a low, muddied A note tolled from that same corner.</p>
<p>She turned again to face the piano. The fallboard rested over the keys, nothing else in the room near enough to it to nudge it into making a sound. Though she didn’t really understand the intricacies of these old instruments. </p>
<p>She stood from the chair and approached the piano in the corner. A perfectly manicured finger traced the wood of the music shelf and she felt the faintest pulse of love pushing at her fingertip. Lifting the fallboard to expose the keys, she noted they were well-cleaned and cared for and tapped a few to hear the way the various notes rang out. With a hum, she closed it back up, then turned to head back to her seat.</p>
<p>The piano clanged with a chorus of dissonant noise that grated against her ears and down her spine. She spun to face it, stopping when she realized a child stood before it. A little girl in a blue dress trimmed with lace. Her eyes were wide, a finger pressed to her lips as though she were hushing the piano for making the noise itself.</p>
<p>“Was that you playing with the piano?” Aziraphale asked her gently.</p>
<p>The child didn’t say anything as she turned to look at Aziraphale, not that she honestly expected her to. The maid had said aside from the staff and Sarah Winchester, there was only one other inhabitant of the house at this time. Aziraphale doubted it was this young girl.</p>
<p>“Were you trying to get my attention?” she probed, taking a step towards her, but that seemed to spook the spectral child into running from her, the dear going so far as to climb into the fireplace in an attempt to hide. “Oh, come now, my dear girl, you’ll ruin your lovely dress.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale approached the hearth, but she saw no trace of the child. She crouched down to peer inside, but could only see the bricks laid within it and the leftover ash from a fire that had burned in winters past. She’d heard talk that Mrs. Winchester was plagued by spirits, though Aziraphale could scarcely believe rumors surrounding the strange widow who moved across the country to build an expansive manor, flaunting her wealth at those afflicted by recessions and depressions over the years she’d taken up residence in California.</p>
<p>However, there was no denying what she had just seen. Aziraphale sat back on her heels as she mused to herself. Perhaps she’d lived on the property long ago, prior to Sarah Winchester’s purchase. The widow’s first-born daughter had tragically passed in infancy and she’d had no other children after, and no other family save for a niece who was full grown at this point and lived in a house of her own. </p>
<p>Straightening out of her crouch, Aziraphale caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and the dark figure standing just behind her. Heart leaping to her throat unbidden, she whirled about to face a woman dressed in all black, a veil draped over half of her face, fixed to a hat her red hair was pinned beneath. The figure was just as stunned to see her, painted lips parted in shock and eyes hidden by a pair of dark lenses reflecting the afternoon light back at Aziraphale.</p>
<p>“Crowley,” she breathed, another unbidden act as her lips moved of their own accord, like she’d been holding her name on her tongue for all the years they’d been apart. </p>
<p>And then Aziraphale was alone in the parlour once again, trembling as her own ghosts came back to haunt her.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>Of course, <em>of course</em>, Aziraphale would be here. Crowley snapped her gloves and veil out of existence, her long hair falling out of its severe bun and over her shoulders. This was the last place she’d expected to see the angel, had counted on Aziraphale being half a world away in her bookshop. She almost hadn’t recognized her. Crowley could count on one sharply, black-nailed hand the amount of times throughout their history that she’d seen Aziraphale alter her corporation, though she was stunning regardless what form she took. </p>
<p>“Ngk.” Crowley removed her sunglasses with a scoff, folding them neatly on her nightstand and rubbed at her eyes. She didn’t have time for this. She hadn’t prepared for this. </p>
<p>She didn’t know what to do when <em>fraternising</em> was still wedged between her ribs like a dagger. The only reason she’d been able to cope with the idea of being awake and out and about had been because she’d known there was no chance of having to confront the brutal ache an angel’s words had left behind. </p>
<p>Oh, she knew what Aziraphale meant. She knew neither of them had been at their best that day in St. James’ Park, but that didn’t mean she was ready to swallow it like the bitterest pill and carry on as though Aziraphale hadn’t gutted her in broad daylight and never looked back. She didn’t even look bothered. Her perfect angelic curls framing cherubic cheeks and her pretty little blue dress with its puffed sleeves and white stockings. </p>
<p>A rattle shook the wardrobe in the corner. Crowley raised an eyebrow, waiting for a tick before she snapped it open herself. The double doors swung open and the entire piece rocked with the force of it. There was nothing but coat racks - thirteen of them - embedded in the back of the armoire. Crowley pressed on the back of it, flipping a latch that eased a trap door open and revealed a shadowed passage built into it. </p>
<p>From what she could see of it, it appeared empty. Stopping the breath in her chest and freezing the blood in her veins, she silenced her corporation entirely and listened. Deep in the bowels of the house, she could hear the faintest thud… <em>thud</em>.</p>
<p>It continued like that, the rhythm of an unsteady heartbeat. <em>Thud.</em> <em>Thud.</em> </p>
<p>“Oi,” Crowley called into the corridor. “S’enough of that. You keep that up and I’ll make sure to have Hell set aside a personal place in the pit just for you.”</p>
<p>The frantic sound of nails scrabbling against wood echoed, something spidering through the house towards the sound of her voice. It got louder, closer-</p>
<p>Crowley slammed the door shut and latched it just in time for those nails to claw at the back panel of the armoire, the whole thing trembling with the force of it. She smoothed out her skirt and counted the number of hooks on the armoire once more before closing it. </p>
<p>There was a knock at the door. Crowley fetched her sunglasses and hooked them over her ears before answering. The butler’s eyes were wide as he took in her loose hair and lack of veil, though he really should have been used to it, in Crowley’s opinion. It wasn’t the first time she’d breached decorum in the house, and it wasn’t likely to be the last. Not when Sarah was too old to mind.</p>
<p>“Wot?” Crowley asked.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Winchester asked that I inform you dinner will be served in the east dining room this evening, Mrs. Crowley,” the man relayed nervously. “And that you shall be dining an hour earlier than usual, out of consideration for Nurse Fell after her travels.”</p>
<p>Nurse Fell. Satan help her. “I’ll pass.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>Crowley sighed, waving him off limply. “No dinner for me tonight. I’m feeling… ngk. The vapours. Or whatever ailments are around. I’ll keep to my quarters for the evening.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Would you like the new nurse to check in on you?”</p>
<p>“No,” Crowley said in a rush, baring her teeth. “No, s’not that serious. Nothing a bit of bedrest won’t fix. Do give Mrs. Winchester my apologies for not dining with her tonight.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Mrs. Crowley. Would you like dinner to be sent to your room instead?”</p>
<p>“That won’t be necessary.” And a subtle miracle assured the butler that no further prying was needed either.</p>
<p>“Then I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening, ma’am.”</p>
<p>“That’d be grand.” She smiled sharply, then closed the door.</p>
<p>There was no way in Heaven or Hell she was going to be stuck across a table from Aziraphale for an hour in the best of circumstances, not when she wasn’t ready to watch her indulge in the west coast’s rich seafood in the form of shrimp scampi drenched in a butter wine sauce or lick the cream from a profiterole from the sweet corner of her mouth that dimpled when she smiled. That smile that had her shining brighter than any of the stars Crowley spun into being, just from the sight of her alone.</p>
<p>She hadn’t received that smile in the parlour just now, and she hadn’t at St. James’ Park either. Though she’d been distracted that day. On edge. The slip of paper burning a hole in her pocket before it burned on the pond’s surface. Perhaps Aziraphale had smiled at the sight of her and she’d missed it.</p>
<p>There was another knock. Crowley groaned and wrenched the door open, “what?” smothered in her throat and silenced before the word could be given its first breath as her gaze fell on Aziraphale. The angel’s hands folded primly before her, twisting her signet ring over powder white gloves. Crowley sputtered rather ineloquently, but Aziraphale was hardly fazed by it. </p>
<p>“So it is you.”</p>
<p>Crowley swallowed, finally wrangling together enough words to form a sentence. “So it is.” Silence took up residence between them, as an angel and a demon stood on opposite sides of a doorway, watching each other tentatively. “Can I help you with something?” Crowley asked when it started to make her itch.</p>
<p>“I overheard the staff,” Aziraphale began, right to the point, no time for pleasantries, of course not. Why on earth should she be pleasant to a demon? “They said you’re not coming to dinner?”</p>
<p>“Demon. Don’t need to eat,” she managed to grunt, crossing her arms as she attempted a casual lean against the doorframe.</p>
<p>“Yes, but keeping up appearances…”</p>
<p>“Do I look like I care about keeping up appearances, Aziraphale?”</p>
<p>She stiffened, lower lip jutting out, pink and plush and promising. Promising to be just as sweet as it looked if she just leaned in for a taste… “This isn’t part of some nefarious scheme of yours, is it?”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t you like to know?”</p>
<p>They stared at one another for a charged moment, the heaviness in the air because of supernatural activity, of course, but for once it wasn’t the spirits. Just an angel and a demon and plenty of unfinished business. </p>
<p>“That it?” Crowley asked, voice a low murmur as she watched Aziraphale lift her chin through the lenses of her glasses, hiding her eyes but not dimming the sugar spun colours of Aziraphale’s powder blues and creams. </p>
<p>“Of course. I don’t have any business with you,” she replied with a sniff.</p>
<p>Crowley’s lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a sneer, but it wasn’t a particularly pretty look, though she didn’t miss the way Aziraphale’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Obviously.”</p>
<p>Blue eyes snapped back to meet Crowley’s, her mouth forming a perfect, shocked circle. For a moment, a sliver of a second hidden in the shadow of a clock’s hands, she almost seemed sad. A deep melancholy, a well of loneliness, springing forth to wet her eyes. But before Crowley could process it, Aziraphale huffed and rolled her eyes before marching away, kitten heels clicking on the hardwood floor.</p>
<p>For Satan’s sake, even the upturn of her nose and the flounce of her skirts were mesmerizing. Crowley closed the door and stalked away from it, draping herself dramatically across the duvet on her queen-sized bed. There was no point in lurking about the house at this hour. She’d have a nap and wait until the house was asleep.</p>
<p>Until the maze was dark and the echoes of hammers rang through the empty halls, then the Serpent of Eden would slither back out into the night and do what must be done.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>The lady of the house had been quite formidable, even in her later years. Aziraphale had been pleasantly surprised by her fortitude and ambitions as it came to the Winchester Manor. She had a good head on her shoulders, and her decision to shift the Winchester Revolving Rifle Company away from their namesake product was an inspiring one. After the horrors of the Great World War and decades of profiting off violence, the woman had invested in creating products that were more along the use of the every day citizen. Household appliances, toys for children, even a new thing called roller skates. Shoes with little wheels on the bottoms. Aziraphale didn’t understand it, but she’d nodded and hummed as though she did, and steadfastly avoided looking at the third place setting and empty chair at the table.</p>
<p>She didn’t know what Crowley was up to, and it was thoroughly distracting. Of all the places for her to run into the demon, she hadn’t expected it to be California. She ignored the dull ache in her corporation’s belly, choosing instead to fill the hollowness with angel hair pasta with freshly caught shrimp drenched in a butter sauce and copious amounts of dry, white wine. </p>
<p>Mrs. Winchester miraculously did not notice just how many glasses the angel had.</p>
<p>Of course, she was here to do a job, but really, she thought after such a long trip from England to New York and then New York to California, only to unexpectedly run into her adversary after decades of not speaking, well, surely she deserved to muddle her mind for a few hours. </p>
<p>She had forgotten, however, how much of a challenge it was to walk in heels while drunk. </p>
<p>Not drunk, she mentally corrected herself, as she stumbled into a wall. Tipsy. She was still capably perfect- er, that is, perfectly capable of keeping her thoughts and wits about her. She was also fuzzily pleasant, buoyed by the warmth swimming through her veins and turning her limbs loose and lovely.</p>
<p>Aziraphale wobbled as she bent down to unfasten the buckles on her shoes, giggles echoing in the empty hall. The staff had retired for the night, as had Mrs. Winchester, and Crowley… </p>
<p>Her ankle gave out as she tried slipping off one shoe and she fell sideways in the hall, skirt hiked up in a rather unflattering manner. Alright, perhaps she was a bit more than tipsy. But she blamed the thoughts of Crowley on that. No, no thinking of Crowley. She drank the wine specifically so she wouldn’t think of the demon in her black lace and dark make-up or the way her luscious, red hair spilled over her shoulders in gentle waves.</p>
<p>No, not thinking of that. Crowley hadn’t even called.</p>
<p>The light, bubbly feeling had soured in her stomach and Aziraphale sniffled as she sat on the floor, staring at her half-undone shoes. Crowley had been awake for who knew how long and she hadn’t called on Aziraphale at all. Hadn’t even checked in. She could have been awake during the war for all she knew and she’d left her to face the horrors of it alone.</p>
<p>She toed off one shoe, then the other. She hooked her fingers in the straps and let them dangle from her fingers as she stood, starting back for her room. There’d be another bottle of wine in there, one Mrs. Winchester wouldn’t miss. Aziraphale was going to need quite a bit more it seemed-</p>
<p>A door shut ahead of her. Oh, just what she needed, to be caught stumbling through the halls in her stockings and swimming in wine. A lovely first impression. </p>
<p>Aziraphale stilled and squinted down the hall, unable to tell if it was someone coming or going. “Hello?” she called out, but there was no answer.</p>
<p>Someone going then, she decided, letting out a relieved laugh. Perhaps she ought to sober up, but the thought of having to start all over once she got to her quarters wasn’t a particularly appealing one. </p>
<p>She quietly padded through the hall, the floors creaking beneath her feet as she struggled to maintain a semblance of decorum if people were still up and about. She was an angel after all, she could move silently if she willed it, between the air particles-</p>
<p>She dropped one of her shoes and it clattered on the hardwood. “Bugger,” she cursed drunkenly, stooping to pick it up. </p>
<p>The floor continued to creak.</p>
<p>Footsteps that weren't hers crept through the shadowed hall. Aziraphale straightened, both shoes pressed to her bosom. She didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean no one was there.</p>
<p>“S'that you, Crowley?” she asked, swaying like a California palm in the wind, feet shuffling to keep steady. “You silly serpent. Can't sneak up on me now. Not this time.”</p>
<p>If it was Crowley, she didn't answer. But the footsteps did stop. Aziraphale took that as confirmation enough. </p>
<p>“Aha, see? I can still thwart you. I didn't miss you s'much that I can't still thwart you… Thwartingly.” Aziraphale shivered, her puffed sleeves crinkling as she hunched up her shoulders. “S'cold. What're you doing to the air?” </p>
<p><em>Bang.</em> She jumped as the door beside her burst open and slammed into the wall. It opened to a dark room and a figure stood in the center of it, bathed in the moonlight pouring through the window. A male figure, very much not Crowley. Aziraphale pressed her back against the wall opposite the door, her corporation struggling through the pains of sobering up as the figure lifted a rifle to his shoulder. </p>
<p>Oh, she hadn’t thought this sort of a mission would come with the threat of discorporation! She was supposed to be playing nurse to a rifle company heiress and get her to continue manufacturing guns, that was all.</p>
<p>“Please, be reasonable-” she started as soon as her mind cleared, corporation’s heart racing as she stared down the barrel of the gun.</p>
<p>His finger moved to the trigger and she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the inevitable impact. The shot ripped through the air and she flinched, arms crossed protectively over her chest. She’d been shot before, she and Crowley both, though never to the point of discorporation. Usually a graze against the shoulder or the leg, caught only when they were distracted by something or if it was considered a frivolous miracle to divert the path of the bullet. In any case, there was still a white hot agony that blossomed from the site of the wound, radiating heat through their skin and into the muscle tissue. Aziraphale knew what it felt like to be shot.</p>
<p>There was no pain. No bullet piercing her heart and killing the body she’d grown quite fond of over the past six thousand or so years. She opened her eyes a crack, still cowering against the wall.</p>
<p>The man was gone, the room empty.</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s gaze darted up and down the hall. No one was there, not even servants who surely would’ve come running at the sound of gunfire. Not even Crowley. Only the wind and the faint buzz of construction in the distance filled the house. The <em>bang, bang, bang</em> of a hammer.</p>
<p>Perhaps that was all it had been. The pounding against a nail as it split through wood. She straightened out her skirt, then walked the rest of the way to her room at a brisk pace, glancing over her shoulder every now and then. She really must have been drunker than she thought if she was seeing things and confusing hammers for gunshots. </p>
<p>Of course, that was the second figure she’d seen in this house that disappeared so instantaneously. And rumor was the Winchester Manor was haunted, the lady of the house cursed by the blood that had been spilt in order for her fortune to amass. As an angel, Aziraphale certainly knew better than to believe the dear lady was cursed for something such as that. There had been far worse humans who’d committed far worse crimes and never faced anything such as a curse from the spirits they’d wronged. </p>
<p>However, she also knew that vengeful spirits were something to be wary of and that lost spirits could certainly turn up in any place they’d like. </p>
<p>Aziraphale closed the door to her room and locked it, adding a bit of protection to it just in case. She had planned on reading some of Jack London’s work in honour of being in the San Francisco Bay Area, but wondered if perhaps it would behoove her to look into the texts she had on spirits and form a plan to help any lost ones to cross over. She eyed the bottle of wine on her dressing table mournfully. And probably best not to drink while she was at it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rumors and Reasons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'd just like to give a shout out to Syl for inspiring my headcanon on how the ineffables see and interact with ghosts! You know how much I love your portrayal of these kinds of ghostly situations, but it deserves all the love!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale did not leave her room until it was time for breakfast. She found it was being served in a different dining room than the one where they had dinner, this one overlooking the gardens and the demon that walked by Mrs. Winchester’s side on her morning stroll. Aziraphale’s gaze narrowed as she watched them, wondering just what Crowley’s silver tongue was spinning and what the matriarch of the house might be divulging about the conversations she’d had thus far with the new nurse. And tried to ignore the pang of envy and being someone Crowley wanted to walk with.</p>
<p>She focused on her breakfast, tucking away half a grapefruit, toast with jam, a soft boiled egg, tea, and juice, then was called upon by Mrs. Winchester to meet her in her office and take on the role of nurse officially.</p>
<p>She refrained from mentioning anything of what she saw or heard the night before, focusing on administering the proper medication and taking note of her vitals. She’d grown quite accustomed to the act of tending to humans over her years posing as a nurse, treating actual wounds as well as answering the prayers of the injured, the hopeless, and the dying. Sarah Winchester was nowhere near some of the men and boys she’d blessed and watched over, but it did take her back.</p>
<p>“Have you seen them yet?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale paused in removing her gloves, already miracle clean but no longer necessary. “Seen what, Mrs. Winchester?” she inquired.</p>
<p>“The spirits who are drawn to me,” the old woman clarified, and the angel thought of the little girl in the parlour and the shadowed gunman. “Do you believe in ghosts, Nurse Fell?”</p>
<p>“I suppose I must do,” she answered honestly. “I believe there are those who lose their way either to Heaven or to… well.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” the lady of the house replied after a beat. “That is one way, among others. I can’t say that the spirits of this house are lost.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Aziraphale laid her gloves in the medical bag before closing it.</p>
<p>“I won’t presume to entertain the idea that rumours surrounding my estate would reach England’s shores across the Atlantic, but you’ve been in the area long enough that I imagine you must have heard it somewhere.”</p>
<p>“That the house is haunted?” </p>
<p>“That I am cursed.”</p>
<p>Sarah Winchester lifted her chin and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes with a piercing gaze that gave the angel pause. Some humans, not all or even most, could sense the otherworldly nature of angels. She hadn’t thought this particular human to be one of them, despite the stories, but in that moment, Aziraphale saw a sense of knowing in this woman’s old and tired eyes. This was a woman who had seen much.</p>
<p>Aziraphale met her gaze evenly, folding her hands in front of herself demurely. “What makes you think you are cursed, my dear lady?”</p>
<p>“I inherited a fortune whose foundation was laid by the lives lost to the Winchester rifle. Death is my cornerstone,” she claimed solemnly. “Though in your field I would think you’re not a stranger to Death either.”</p>
<p>How right she was. “No, indeed I’m not. We’re more of acquaintances, I’d say.”</p>
<p>“Then you must understand the shadows that haunt me.” Sarah Winchester settled in her chair, face turned towards the stained glass window of her office. “As I am left to live with the consequences of all who I lead to Death’s door.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale approached gently, encouraging the room to fill with a bit of warmth. “In my experience, Death is a rather neutral party in the grand scheme of it all. There is no malice or motives when he comes. Only the inevitable.”</p>
<p>It fell rather flat as an attempt to bolster her spirits, Aziraphale realized upon reflection. The woman of the manor looked at her, this time her eyes were merely tired, the knowing absent for now. “I believe I’ll rest for a bit before returning to my work. Would you mind, Nurse Fell?”</p>
<p>“Not at all, my dear. Do call for me should you need anything.” She gathered up her things and quietly crept from the room, glancing back to see her settle in her chair with her gaze fixed on the stained glass window, a web of blue and blacks with thirteen brightly coloured baubles caught in the spidering lines of fragmented hues. </p>
<p>Guilt assuaged the angel then as she thought of the task ahead of her. To persuade Mrs. Winchester to shift away from producing commercial items in favour of guns once more as she waded through the murky waters of her final days. She was closer to her last breath than her first, time taking more and more of her day by day. And now Aziraphale was here to take a little bit more. To take her moral convictions.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>“Was that you skulking around last night?”</p>
<p>Crowley sighed, pausing in her mid-morning stroll through the gardens to sneer at the chrysanthemums and cherry laurels. The accusatory tone wasn’t surprising, it was Aziraphale’s preferred method of approaching her. If she could pretend she was attempting to get to the bottom of one of Crowley’s evil schemes, then she could justify soliciting her. Since the Arrangement had been invoked, it had been happening less, but then Crowley very much doubted that the Arrangement was still in place given their falling out.</p>
<p>She turned towards Aziraphale’s voice, dealing with the way her corporation’s breath caught at the sight of the angel framed by sweet peas and hyacinths by stopping her need for air entirely. Aziraphale’s skirts swished with her purposeful strides, fully decked out in her nurse’s get-up, complete with a sweet little cap atop her golden curls and an apron laced over her powder blue dress with a high collar and puffed sleeves. She looked as soft as she ever had and Crowley’s fingers twitched to touch beneath her black lace gloves.</p>
<p>Instead she arched her neck and brow as she waited for Aziraphale. “Aren’t you supposed to be tending to the good Mrs. Winchester? Nursing her back to health?”</p>
<p>“She’s in fine spirits this morning and has taken her medication, now she’s having a bit of a rest before going about her daily business,” Aziraphale huffed. “But don’t change the subject, Crowley. I asked you a question.”</p>
<p>Crowley resumed her stroll with the angel at her side. “I wasn’t anywhere near your room if that’s what you’re asking.”</p>
<p>“But you do admit to skulking?”</p>
<p>“Will that help you sleep better at night if I do?”</p>
<p>A pout pulled at Aziraphale’s lips that shouldn’t have been as darling as it was, especially when she was attempting to accuse Crowley of some sort of infraction. “No,” she eventually sighed and Crowley actually blinked in surprise behind her shades. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>She averted her gaze, nose slightly upturned as she pretended to admire the greenery around them. “No reason in particular,” she replied airily, though Crowley caught a hint of her corporation’s betrayal as pink dusted her cheeks. Bloody angel didn’t have a right looking so pretty even when she was infuriating.</p>
<p>“No reason, hm?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale pointedly refused to look at her, but her busy hands were wringing, tugging on each finger as she held her silence like a crystal goblet, like it would shatter with the slightest slip of her fingers. “I heard someone walking, late last night. Up and down the halls. Seeing as you and I are the only beings that don’t actually need to sleep-”</p>
<p>“Are we?” Crowley cut in, just to be contrary, pleasure curdling in her belly when Aziraphale finally looked her way, even if it was to cast her a weary sidelong glance.</p>
<p>“<em>Yes.</em> Even if you do choose to sleep, it isn’t as though you actually need it.” </p>
<p>“Well, I did last night.” For a bit, not that Aziraphale needed to know how long exactly.</p>
<p> The last thing Crowley needed was for her to start poking her curious nose into her business and derail her schemes. Hell didn’t wake her up for just anything, and she’d be blessed if she was going to give them any reason to needle her for the next hundred years because Aziraphale wanted to be petty. Nevermind that she herself was being equally petty, Crowley was a demon. She was <em>allowed</em>. </p>
<p>The rumors surrounding the Winchester house weren’t without their reasons, but Crowley was handling it, and she could already hear Aziraphale’s holier-than-thou tone as she looked down at her - technically up at her, but metaphorically down at her - and Crowley just… she didn’t have it in her yet to brush off the sting. As much as the argument over the holy water had hurt, it hurt just as much knowing that the angel had been fine letting half a century pass without missing her.</p>
<p>“What are your intentions for Mrs. Winchester, Crowley?”</p>
<p>She frowned at the angel, as she continued her slow saunter, hips swaying lazily. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Obviously you’re here for some nefarious purpose.”</p>
<p>“Obviously,” Crowley echoed softly, but Aziraphale pressed on, likely not hearing her.</p>
<p>“But I think you should leave the dear lady’s conscience out of it.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t that your side’s whole modus operandi?” Crowley countered. “Twist the guilt of every wicked deed, no matter the intent?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, her heels clicking on the stone path as she kept pace with her. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Don't do that. Don't pretend to be all innocent. I know your orders are to stop me from encouraging her to remain in rifle production and you're going to use her guilty conscience to do it like she has any responsibility for what people choose to do with the guns her father-in-law created.”</p>
<p>Crowley stopped when she realized Aziraphale was no longer following her, instead looking conflicted as she stood in the shade of the juniper trees. “Well, there are only so many uses one has for a firearm. It's not a far leap to assume that it's intended purpose is for murder, whether in the right hands or not.”</p>
<p>“‘Right hands?’”</p>
<p>“It's nothing.” Aziraphale waved off. “But you're entirely off base, that isn't why I'm here at all. I'd be here whether you were involved or not, though I'd certainly have been less willing had I known ahead of time that you'd be here.”</p>
<p>There was that twist from such meticulous hands, the knife pushed in just a few inches deeper. “Oh, is that so? Well, there’s the gate. Don’t let it catch your skirts.”</p>
<p>“I can’t very well leave <em>now</em>, Crowley. How would I explain that to Gabriel?”</p>
<p>Crowley bared her teeth in a facsimile of a wicked grin. “You were no match for the demon Crowley’s wicked wiles.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”</p>
<p>“I would, yes. Be a real feather in my wing to chase off the great Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale folded her arms over her chest and took a half-step back, actually having the gall to look at though Crowley was the one who’d hurt her feelings. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid that shall have to remain a fantasy for you. I’m not going anywhere.”</p>
<p>“Neither am I.” Crowley offered a half shrug.</p>
<p>With a huff, the portrait of a lady scorned, Aziraphale turned her back on the demon and marched back towards the house. “I don’t know why I even bother to try!” she called back.</p>
<p>“Ngk.” Crowley watched her go, the plants close to her trembling as a chill settled in the California heat and curled in on themselves. “Neither do I,” she muttered, holding back every instinct shouting at her to call the angel back, to apologize, to claim she didn’t mean it.</p>
<p>Alone once again, her thoughts turned to why Aziraphale had approached her in the first place. Skulking about at night… It was possible the human souls still stranded on Earth had been pulled towards the heavenly grace that could promise them eternal salvation or whatever it was Heaven was selling these days. Perhaps they were seeking her out for assistance, tired of wandering the winding halls of the Winchester Manor. She knew Aziraphale was no stranger to sending ghosts on their proper path, if she did come into contact with any of them, Crowley didn’t doubt that she’d be able to handle herself. The only one she would’ve wondered about was safely sealed away in the walls. There was no reasoning with that soul, no salvation waited for them, and they didn’t even care.</p>
<p>If only Crowley could be so lucky. Clucking her tongue, she stole away to a part of the manor currently under construction, and stole several boxes of nails while she was at it. She was running low.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>Something was knocking on the wall. </p>
<p>Aziraphale looked up from her book, brow creased as she paused to listen. It wasn’t constant, but occasionally she’d hear the softest tapping or what sounded like fingernails dragging down the drywall. It had been happening for the past several hours and it was only a quarter past midnight. She’d attempted to ignore it initially, after spending the afternoon seeking out the human spirits in an attempt to assist them in crossing over and finding the light. Apparently they weren’t interested, as not even the child from the parlour showed her face. She wasn’t going to rise to their bait if they weren’t going to come to her like rational beings when she extended an olive branch to them. Honestly, they were almost as infuriating as Crowley.</p>
<p>However, as the headboard of her bed began to rattle, she decided enough was enough and marked her place before standing from her reading chair to investigate. “I am more than willing to assist you, if you stop with the dramatics. You don’t frighten me,” she spoke to the room, eyeing the wall her bed was up against. She believed it backed to another bedroom, thus opened her door to check. There was a door on the same wall as her own. </p>
<p>She knocked politely, almost expecting the spirit to knock back, though it remained quiet for the first time all evening. Lips pursed, she tried again, this time calling out to any potential living inhabitants of the room. “Pardon me, but is there anyone in here? I’m staying in the room next door and heard something. Thought I might see if anything’s the matter.”</p>
<p>While there were no other guests at the manor save herself and Crowley - not that she was actually considered a guest, but she wasn’t exactly one of the regular staff who were housed in a different part of the house - it was still the courteous thing to do, just in case. When no answer came, she opened the door and both eyebrows shot up in surprise. The door opened to a solid brick wall, not even enough room for a door knob on the interior side.</p>
<p>“Well, this is a peculiar design choice, Mrs. Winchester…” Aziraphale murmured, feeling along the mortar and the brick for any secret passage of some sort, but none gave way under the pressure from her fingertips.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t.</em>
</p>
<p>A whisper ghosted along the back of her neck, goosebumps assaulting her corporation without her say as she whirled about to face the empty hallway. The glow from her candle shrouded either end of the hallway in complete shadow, the flame dancing in a frantic flicker as if threatened to be blown out by a quiet puff of air. She reminded it that it was an angel’s light and would not be doused by any natural means, though that didn’t do much to soothe the poor thing. Perhaps human entities did not count as natural, but rather preternatural beings. </p>
<p>Aziraphale blew out the candle herself, the only light now what spilled from her quarters. “Don’t what?” she asked the hallway. “I understand you might be confused about your circumstances, or frightened, but I can assure you I’m only trying to help you. I can’t very well do that if you play games with me. Now, I’m retiring to my room for the night. If you wish to converse with me, then please knock on the door at least three times and I’ll do what I can to help you.”</p>
<p>She closed the door to the brick wall, then marched into her bedroom and shut that door as well. It was quiet now. Aziraphale relit the candle and set it on the bedside table as she eyed the wall behind her bed. The bricked up doorway certainly didn’t explain the rattling and the scratching beyond it. With a snap, the bed slid away from the wall just enough for her to get a good look at it.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” Thirteen nails protruded from a strip of wood over the yellow wallpaper. </p>
<p>Another peculiar design choice. Aziraphale pressed on the wall above the wood plank, hardly surprised to feel it bow beneath her palm. A door that had been wallpapered over, perhaps? And then barred. </p>
<p>Someone could have been trapped inside it, though spirits were trapped by little outside of purified spaces. A sealed door wouldn’t hold any ghost or demon at bay as far as she knew. It could be that a spirit wanted attention drawn to whatever was in the wall. Perhaps a body of a construction worker had been trapped, lost to the dark and left to rot in the bones of the very house he’d been meant to build. Aziraphale swallowed the sour taste that inspired and laid her cheek against the wall as she listened. <em>Don’t.</em> An echo of the warning from the hall dimmed the bedroom lights, but it didn’t come from beyond the wall.</p>
<p>If it was interfering with Mrs. Winchester’s well-being and with her own ability to do her angelic duty, well, it was only right that she investigate it properly. Aziraphale snapped her fingers and pulled down a miracle that extracted each of the thirteen nails from the wooden barricade. As the nails clattered on the hardwood floor, something raced through the walls, banging and thudding, running towards her bedroom. The wallpaper ripped at the edges. The hidden door was torn from its hinges and splintered as it was flung into her room. </p>
<p>It was only a miracle that it didn’t hit her. Then the lights went out, and all the warmth from the room was snuffed with it.</p>
<p>A growl reverberated in the dark. It reached into her corporation, crawled beneath her skin and would have frightened a human into utter stillness, petrified by what lurked with them in the shadows. Humans didn’t think about how they had just as much to fear in the light. Aziraphale thought about the white walls of Heaven, of Gabriel’s strongly worded notes and of a park in broad daylight and another type of note that had the power to destroy her entirely.</p>
<p>Those were the things that frightened her. This human spirit, as tragic as their fate, did not. As she raised her chin in defiance, the wicks of her candles ignited with a burst of flame. They shot towards the ceiling, spitting hot wax and illuminated the long-limbed figure climbing out of the hole in the wallpaper.</p>
<p>Their bones were twisted and too long, their humanity warping into a being of vengeance and decay. Their eyes were sunken into their pale face, a bullet hole between them and another in their chest, oozing black ichor that dripped onto the floor. This being would not be coaxed to the gates of Heaven. </p>
<p><em>Where is God?</em> Their teeth rattled with their soundless voice, as did the nails on the floor. </p>
<p>All thirteen lifted into the air, then shot at the angel as her bedroom door flew open. A familiar long-fingered hand wrapped around the meat of her arm and pulled her against a surprisingly soft chest. The nails were caught mid-air as a sharp hiss filled the room, the features of something that was not at all human, but not all beast baring its fangs at the specter. Aziraphale caught a glimpse of the forked tongue before she was spun and shoved into the hall.</p>
<p>Crowley slammed the door behind them, the nails still clutched in a bloody grip as she pressed her full weight against it. “Hammer those in!” she barked, cursing the door to keep the entity inside from phasing through. “All of them!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale miracled a hammer and took the offered nails as the door shook on its hinges. When the thirteenth nail was secured, the being on the other side quieted and the light beneath the crack in the bedroom door dimmed. She could hear Crowley’s panting in the darkness, felt the brush of her long, black dress whisper against her own. </p>
<p><em>Let there be light</em>. She prayed and a small orb of heavenly white light glowed between them. Crowley’s features no longer resembled that of a serpent’s, save for her eyes. Yellow from corner to corner and pupils thinned to splinters. Those eyes snapped to her at the sudden light, intense as her bosom heaved with each breath. Aziraphale’s own caught in her chest, just as she was caught in that stare. Shoulder to shoulder, they looked from one another to the door, then Crowley slowly backed away and took the familiar warmth and earthy smell of her with her.</p>
<p>“Does your room have a window?” she asked in a low tone as her corporation quickly and miraculously regained its breath.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered just as the sound of shattering glass rang out from inside the room.</p>
<p>“Shit shitshit<em>shit</em>,” Crowley cursed, then stormed down the hall into the dark. “You just had to pull the nails out of the wall, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale cupped the orb of holy light and carried it with her as she followed Crowley through the creaking house. “How was I supposed to know that their purpose was to keep an irate spirit at bay?”</p>
<p>“‘Irate,’” Crowley scoffed and the angel could see the way she rolled her eyes without her sunglasses now.</p>
<p>Aziraphale ignored her commentary. “That certainly isn’t like any ward I’ve seen before. Thirteen nails in a door.”</p>
<p>“The good lady Winchester believes it works. So it does,” Crowley replied, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand before she lost her to the twisting hallways and tugged her along. “Her strength in her beliefs are strong. It’s the whole reason the spirits are here in the first place.”</p>
<p>“So she <em>is</em> cursed?” Aziraphale asked, looking down at their hands and the way Crowley’s fingers curled around hers.</p>
<p>“Mngh- ngk… yeaaaah, could say that,” Crowley acquiesced as she snapped the door to her own bedroom open and pulled Aziraphale inside. “A curse of her own making, that is.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale frowned as Crowley tugged her all the way to the window, tightening her grip when the demon peered out of it to try and see the windows of the Daisy Room. “I don’t understand,” she told her. </p>
<p>Crowley sighed, unable to see anything scaling the walls from this vantage point, finally letting Aziraphale go as she pocketed more nails. “How much have you heard? About the curse?”</p>
<p>“Only that people believe the spirits of those killed at the hands of a Winchester rifle have sought to seek their vengeance on the woman who owns the company, which is a vague enough involvement at best. Not nearly strong enough to induce a perpetual grudge against the poor lady,” Aziraphale pointed out.</p>
<p>“Right. So have you heard about the medium that told her to fuck off to California to try and appease the spirits?”</p>
<p>“Vaguely. Something about how she needed to build this house for them?”</p>
<p>“Something like that,” Crowley confirmed, though appeared a bit sheepish about it. “Look, basically whatever she was told was enough to convince her and she apparently believed in it so strongly that she manifested the curse herself.”</p>
<p>“She... cursed herself?”</p>
<p>“Guess you could call it that.” Crowley shrugged. “She’s all wrapped up in this… negative aura that calls out to them specifically. She expects these ghosts to find her to enact their vengeance and they hear her call. They’re drawn to it like… like… I dunno, like something that’s drawn to a flame. Anyway, they feel the tug, they come to the house, self-fulfilling prophecy haunts the Winchester Manor.”</p>
<p>Crowley spread her hands out as she offered up her explanation. The cuts were still visible on the hand that caught the nails mid-air, small puncture wounds made before she’d had a chance to convince them that they wouldn’t leave a scratch on her corporation, likely too concerned with keeping the angel she’d come to save out of harm’s way. Aziraphale’s chest felt too tight as her gaze lingered on Crowley’s open palms, open and inviting. Crowley still saved her. If this spirit was malevolent enough to move physical objects, discorporation by its hands was still very possible. Aziraphale reached out, gently tracing the back of Crowley’s hands with her fingertips as she moved to cup it. Crowley blinked owlishly at her, gaze darting from where they touched to Aziraphale’s face and back.</p>
<p>“Mmngh, uh, wot- what’re you doing?”</p>
<p>“Hold still,” Aziraphale told her, cradling her injured hand as she raised it to her lips. She gently blew a cooling breath across her fingers, watching as they twitched while the skin knitted itself together. “There,” she murmured, glancing up at Crowley through her lashes. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”</p>
<p>The poor demon sputtered rather inelegantly, her fingers curling when Aziraphale’s fell away, perhaps to try and grasp for her hand or to hold the ghost of her breath for a little while longer. In the dark of her bedroom in a house in California, they could pretend that no one could see them. See the way they wanted one another still.</p>
<p>Aziraphale could see it. She’d been a proud, stubborn fool not to have seen it before, but it was so very clear Crowley had missed her, too. </p>
<p>“Don’t do that. Should’ve warned you,” she eventually muttered. “Had plenty of opportunity to.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t exactly being receptive,” Aziraphale pointed out.</p>
<p>Crowley waved that off and, for the time being at least, things felt like they had before 1862. “We’ve got to go find that thing and corral it in one of the rooms. Seal it in with the nails. It’s the worst of the lot, most of the others are harmless enough, there’s just so many of the bloody things.”</p>
<p>“You want to help Mrs. Winchester?” Aziraphale asked, taking a box of nails when Crowley handed it over.</p>
<p>“Well, it’s not exactly fun trying to tempt her into making more guns when she’s being terrorized by a bunch of wayward spirits every day,” Crowley huffed. “Besides, isn’t that why you’re here?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale felt colour rise into her cheeks. “Actually, I meant to tell you earlier, but… it appears we’ve both been sent here for the same reason.”</p>
<p>Crowley stilled, eyebrows arched high and lips parted in wonder. “You mean…?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid so.”</p>
<p>“Heaven wants…?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Crowley pinched her lips shut as she utterly failed to keep her glee at bay. “Do they know?”</p>
<p>“What? That Heaven and Hell are after the same goal in this situation?” Aziraphale huffed. “I should think not.”</p>
<p>“That’s brilliant,” Crowley grinned.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad you’re so pleased with it.” Though her tone implied otherwise, though the corners of her mouth twitched upwards at the sight of Crowley’s devilish glee.</p>
<p><em>Bang.</em> Something pounded against the ceiling right above them, the chandelier in Crowley’s room trembling, each individual crystal tinkling as they swayed into one another. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed her own hammer and stormed out of the room. Aziraphale followed her, only to run right into her back when she stopped just outside of it.</p>
<p>“What the Devil are you-?”</p>
<p>“Shh- shh, shh….” Crowley hushed her, one arm out to keep her back as she stared down one end of the hall. </p>
<p>Aziraphale peered over her shoulder, her own eyes widening as she realized what had the demon frozen in her tracks. “Oh, good Lord…”</p>
<p>At least twenty ghosts waited at the end of the hall, all of them standing still and watching the beings as they exited their room. While Aziraphale saw them as they’d been when they were alive, Crowley saw each and every bullet hole, the decaying flesh of the dead and buried, sallow skin draped over brittle bone. The little girl Aziraphale recognized from the parlour was someone Crowley recognized, too, though when she saw her, her little blue dress was stained with her own blood. Crowley swallowed, gaze flicking from each face as she felt the waves of their bitter regret lap at her heels. </p>
<p>“Stay close to me, angel,” she hissed.</p>
<p>“There are so many of them,” Aziraphale breathed. </p>
<p>And there were so many more, locked away behind doors held together by thirteen nails and an old woman’s belief that it would be enough. But Crowley had never seen so many of them gathered all at once like this. They tended to wander, aimless and with little direction other than the general vicinity of Sarah Winchester. Perhaps the dark entity that had broken free had been enough to alert them, to invoke a similar vengeance in themselves.</p>
<p>“We’ll deal with them later, right now we need to focus on-”</p>
<p>The house groaned as the malevolent being crawled within it, more of Mrs. Winchester’s stained glass shattering as it broke back inside. Crowley ran after the cacophony, Aziraphale hurrying in her wake as they left the other ghosts behind them. She could sense its scattered path, it's putrid energy leaving a stain both occult and ethereal beings could sense beyond their corporations. As Crowley tracked the entity, Aziraphale placed a blessing on the house that would ensure it's living inhabitants would sleep until dawn, dreaming of whatever they liked best. </p>
<p>Crowley heard the creature enter the room at the end of the hall. She'd come to know the house well in her time spent there, and in the daylight, she might have noticed just where in the house this door led to. But she was distracted, concerned by trapping this thing and keeping the angel beside her from discorporation. </p>
<p>Crowley didn't hear Aziraphale's gasp as she flung open the door and barged through. Only for the starry skies over California to fill her sight as the floor vanished from beneath her and the familiar sensation of falling consumed her. The bastard tricked her.</p>
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